Harry Potter and the Reign of the Innocent
by MujakiX
Summary: Harry wakes after a terrifying attack on Diagon Alley to find Hermione missing and the storefronts in ruins. He tries to fight the aching feeling that with every other person he saves, Hermione just might be slipping away... ON-HIATUS FOR WRITER'S BLOCK.
1. The New Zero

_Harry Potter And The Reign of the Innocent_

_By MujakiX_

_Chapter One... The New Zero_

It was unusually cloudy that day, with a heavy fog rolling over the horizon... at least that was Harry Potter's vantage point as he gazed out from his second story window. He was seated at a large, mahogany desk that had mysteriously appeared during the time that he had been away at school. It was just the first of a number of things that had changed while he had been gone. A small bookshelf had been installed just above the desk on the wall, and it contained various exciting titles like _How to Determine when the Customer is Wrong_ and _Upgrades: Why Name-Brands Are Better_. Although neither his Aunt nor his Uncle would divulge it, Harry's mountainous cousin Dudley gleefully told him that Vernon had converted Harry's room into a study while he had been at school.

"You're only here half the time anyway." Dudley shrugged before losing interest and wandering to the den.

Which was actually true - for a majority of the year, Harry attended 'Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry' and only returned to his Uncle's house for the summer break. Not that Harry's return mattered to Vernon Dursley, who had simply left everything in his nephew's room upon his return. Not even Alastor Moody had shaken Vernon that much. Much to Harry's chagrin, he found that his chest of drawers and his bed had been removed in order to make room for the mammoth desk. In poor compensation, a small, plastic four-door and a cot had taken their place. It was better than nothing, Harry mused, if his Uncle hadn't been so afraid of the Order, he would have stuck him beneath the stairwell again.

But today, three days before his birthday, Harry had other things on his mind. Hermione Granger, one of Harry's best friends, had been owling him the Daily Prophet everyday since school had let out. It had been relatively tame thus far, (although Harry was almost certain that Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic, had been playing down the facts to avoid panic in the populace,) but on the seventh page, circled in bright red ink, was the article that grabbed Harry's attention.

_Theft of jewel baffles Aurors_

_by Vincent Lockhart_

_At approximately four 'o clock a.m. yesterday morning, a large obsidian jewel was stolen from The Museum of the Ancient Age. Demetrios Hellion, the wizard deigned to study the jewel, gave his comments to the Daily Prophet this morning._

_"We had just received the gem a week ago from The Museum of Natural History. One of our representatives was sent to retrieve the jewel under the pretense that we were experts in restoring ancient artifacts. We were actually drawn to the gem when it was confirmed that it resonated magical energy." Reymond Glover, the chief curator of the museum also adds, "The shielding ore that surrounds it, thought by the muggles to be rough diamond, is actually a particularly hardy protection spell. But that is the extent of our research. We didn't even have the chance to find out what it can do!!!"_

_Nearby Aurors were dispatched to the site of the theft, and upon arriving, found several unconscious security trolls and the night watch wizards - all afflicted with memory charms. The whereabouts of the gem are, of course, unknown at this time, but it is believed that it will emerge for sale in underground circles. Despite heightened security, the Museum is still open for the Wizarding public, and no changes in hours will be made..._

Harry had stopped reading by this point - the article went on about the new Aztec exhibits and how thefts were going to be prevented in the future. Yet something gnawed at Harry's thoughts: if a mystical gem of some kind with unknown properties had been stolen, why wouldn't it be on the front page? He gazed at the corner of the paper and saw a picture - the black and white photograph alternated between displaying the gem, (Harry thought that it looked like a misshapen rock, albeit with flecks of black,) and a shot of Aurors scanning the room where it was held. After staring at it for a few moments, Harry noticed the large, distinct frame of Kingsley Shacklebolt among the scattered Aurors. He seemed to be inspecting the hinges of the back door.

_I guess that means the Order is already investigating,_ Harry thought as he folded the paper and tossed onto his cot. The phone downstairs rang with its cheery whine, but Harry slumped against the desk and put his head down. So much had happened in the last month that processing it, even after all this time, was still a challenge. The entire Weasley clan - with the notable exception of Percy - had written him a letter offering their condolences for his Godfather's... Sirius' passing, and sent a care package of some sort: Fred and George sent him a mammoth box filled with samples of their products, (none of which Harry would dare try in the house,) all neatly labeled. Ron and Ginny each sent models and posters of famous Quidditch teams, (including Ron's favorite, the Chudley Cannons,) and a rather pricey-looking book called _The Indivisible Soul: The Origins of Defense._ Harry suspected the book to be Ginny's gift rather than Ron's. And finally, Mrs. Weasley sent a picnic basket overloaded with snacks of every kind, as well as a tearful letter that only reminded Harry of the anger he had exhibited at the end of last year. It was difficult to fight the tears after reading Mrs. Weasley's letter, so Harry cried himself out the second night he was home. After the first week, Harry's sadness had gone, leaving only a lingering guilt that he hadn't felt... more. By the second week, he had been well enough to leave his room, reminding the Dursleys that he still existed, and he was hardly left to himself since. Today was a Sunday, the _first_ Sunday since he arrived that there hadn't been anything to do, and Harry woke up feeling disturbed... and then realized that he hadn't any thought of Sirius for nearly two weeks.

Truth be told, he hadn't really had the time to mourn, with his never-ending list of chores and homework. After a moment, he reached into his trunk and produced a piece of parchment and a quill. He opened the ink bottle, but froze.

_What would I tell her?_

Harry chewed on the feathery tip of his quill for a moment... what would he write about? Hermione was the only one who _hadn't_ written a letter of some kind, or sent anything. She simply sent the Prophet and occasionally pointed out things of interest. It was a different form of correspondence then Harry was used to, but not unwanted. Somewhere in the back of his mind, he heard the downstairs phone ring, but he quickly returned to his thoughts. He and Ron had exchanged a few letters, but Hermione hadn't even crossed his mind during his late-night writing sessions. He doubted that she would want to talk about the rock, but at least that was _something_.

The low rumble of thunder echoed in the distance, and he realized that he would have to write _something_ soon or the rain could catch his owl.

"Potter!!!" Harry almost jumped right out of his seat at the sound of his Uncle's booming voice. He never could anticipate when his Uncle would suddenly shout his name from the den. Last week, when he was replacing the shingles on the roof, a shout from his Uncle nearly sent him tumbling off the side of the house. With a sigh, Harry replaced the top of the ink bottle and walked downstairs.

Vernon Dursley was a large, beefy man with very little neck and a perpetually reddened face. Right now, he sat at the kitchen table with his reading glasses donned and a calculator in front of him. When Harry walked in, he gave his nephew a quick glance and simply grunted.

"Phone. For you." He grumbled without moving his lips. Aside from barking instructions, Harry's uncle seldom said more than a few words to him. Harry walked over to the threshold of the hallway and saw the phone off the hook and on a bookshelf. Warily, Harry lifted the phone to his ear, having the same thought he knew his uncle had when he answered the phone: _Who would call me?_

"Hello?" Harry unintentionally whispered, gripping the phone more tightly than necessary.

"Harry?" a familiar, feminine voice inquired in the same tone.

Harry immediately jerked backwards, almost tumbling into the back wall, "Hermione?!?"

The voice hesitated for a moment before sheepishly replying, "Yeah."

A grin spread across Harry's face, "My god, how did you get the number, I mean-"

"Well, I figured that there could only be so many Vernon Dursleys in the directory," Hermione calmly interjected, "but it did take a bit of trial and error to figure out exactly what to tell them if you weren't the one to pick up the phone."

Harry cast a furtive glance at his uncle, who was busy ranting about property taxes to the calculator, "What _did _you tell him?"

"That I'm a friend, from that _special_ school you attend," she said, her voice barely containing laughter, " I think he got the message."

_Well, that explains a lot,_ Harry thought as Vernon suddenly threw the calculator against the refrigerator. It struck the metal with a musical _bong_ that reverberated through the house, and Harry chuckled softly.

"What was that?" Apparently, the sound carried into the phone's receiver as well.

"Just my uncle," Harry sighed, "He's having problems with the refrigerator."

Hermione laughed out loud, "Is he being horrible?"

"Not so much. He mainly ignores me, which is just as well."

She was silent for a bit. Harry glanced from side to side in an effort to find his uncle - and he was relieved when the faint sound of the television reached his ears - Vernon must have settled in the den. When he returned to the receiver, something bothered him: Hermione hadn't said anything for a while and he began to worry.

"Hermione?"

"I'm here." She was whispering again, and an unnerving sensation settled in his stomach. But before he could talk, she began speaking again.

"Did you read the article," Her voice had regained its strength.

"Uh, yeah." Harry absentmindedly replied.

"Then I'm sure that you saw Kingsley in the photo," Hermione said, "So why do you think they did that?"

"I just assumed that the Order was already getting involved."

Hermione sighed patronizingly before answering, "True, but remember that Kingsley also works for the Ministry, which in turn means that he works for Fudge. That itself bears a single question: Why would Fudge appoint a powerful Auror like Kingsley to investigate what the Prophet makes out to be a minor robbery?"

"Hermione, the Prophet already said that it was because they didn't know what it could do."

"The _Museum_ didn't know what it could do, but who's to say that the Ministry didn't already have at least an idea?"

"What? I'm not following you."

"Do you remember the Department of Mysteries?"

Harry suddenly felt the need to sit down, and he slumped against the back wall, "Yeah."

"Harry, it..." Hermione gasped audibly the moment she realized it, "Oh god, Harry... I'm sorry. I didn't mean to... I'm sorry!"

"Look, don't worry about it," Harry interrupted, trying to calm her, "You don't have to -"

"BOY!!!" Uncle Vernon's voice carried over Harry's voice, "GET OFF THAT PHONE THIS MINUTE, YOU'VE BEEN ON IT FOR HALF AN HOUR!!!"

"Damn." Harry thought aloud before returning to the phone, "I have to go."

"I heard," She muttered, and Harry was sure that she uttered a few curses under her breath.

"Listen, 'Mione, I'll talk to you later, but what did you mean about the Department of Mysteries?"

Her whisper was barely audible, but the words burned into Harry's mind, "We were all there, you saw them. Not all artifacts go to the Museum."

Harry lay in his cot the next night, counting the minutes until midnight, until his birthday. Thankfully, Hermione had not called back, but her words still lingered in his mind:

_Not all artifacts go to the Museum..._

_The Department of Mysteries... they saw so much, so many things that shouldn't have been possible_, he thought, _which of those could she have been talking about?_

He glanced at the digital clock on the desk - the display read 11:58 p.m. in bright, red numbers. It just didn't seem worth it anymore, to spend everyday going through the motions of life at his Uncle's house or to go to the Burrow. Harry just wanted to sink down into his cot and disappear, to sleep and never wake up. It hardly seemed fair, to be teased with a normal conversation and suddenly have his _life_ intrude upon it. A warm breeze gently blew the curtains apart, the night sky thick with clouds and air that smelled of rain. It was about this time when Harry realized that Hedwig still hadn't returned from her nightly hunt. Her cage was vacant and the open door rattled in the wind.

_Odd, _he thought, but he didn't think much of it for some reason. Something didn't sit well in his mind, and the vitriol was spreading throughout his body. He was numbing all over, and as he opened his mouth to protest, he yawned. With a last effort, he turned his head to read the clock.

It read 11:59 p.m.

His eyes closed of their own accord, despite mental protestations. With a final breath, sleep took him into her arms and he let go.

_---_

_This place was dark, but he walked down the path as if his sight was active. With every step, a violet torch flared violently on both sides of him. He immediately noticed that he was much taller than he normally was, and he never wore the hood of a Death Eater. In the diminishing darkness, he saw other figures cloaked in black, some tall, some short, but all wearing porcelain masks of tragedy and with their forearms bared. As he walked forward, the dark figures kneeled onto all fours and held their arms out in reverence. He took great pleasure in this, and he ascended the stairs at the center of the room. Violet flame encircled the platform and raced to every corner of the room, forming an arcane rune of burning light on the ground. It looked like half of a shining sun and half of a cloudless night. He approached a pillar of granite as wide as he was tall and stood about eight feet in height. There were stairs that curved around and to the top of this pillar, but instead of ascending these himself, he kneeled at the base of the pillar. A torch of purple fire erupted before him, but he sat erect on his knees. There was movement at the foot of the stairs, and from a hole, something emerged. A snake sixteen feet long and as thick around as a dinner plate slithered towards him, and it circled him twice before coming to a stop._

_"Nagani," He hissed. His voice was as brittle as glass, but there was something dangerous beneath it, something wrong, "The ceremony can commence."_

_The dark men began to chant, their refrains of bastardized Latin echoing within the dark halls like a cathedral. The fires burned higher, reaching for the endless skies above._

_"Sacrifice," he whispered, and the dark men stopped, rising to their feet with arms still outstretched, "A sacrifice of flesh must be made, of blood, and of innocence."_

_"Flesh, flesh, flesh," they chanted the mantra into the black heavens._

_"Of flesh, that is the rule of nature." He thrust his arms into the fire, and he screamed._

_"OF FLESH, THAT IS THE RULE OF NATURE!!!"_ _The dark men also thrust their arms into the fires, and they screamed. All of the men had tattoos upon their forearms, the image of a skull devouring a snake. Soon, the air was thick with the scent of burning flesh, and there was the sound of screaming and the gnashing of teeth. He pulled his burning arms out of the fire and held them out. The air stung the cooked flesh, and he collapsed in pain._

Soon,_ he thought before his body numbed and sleep took his mind to rest, _soon...

---

He woke up screaming, and he felt whatever it was holding him up collapse. Harry hit the ground hard and his eyes jerked open. He found himself looking into the face of an incredibly brassed-off Vernon Dursley.

"What in the bloody hell do you think you're doing!!!"

Harry blinked a few times before his eyes could focus... and there was a blinding light before him.

_Am I dead,_ he thought just before an intense pain clutched at his forearms.

"Damn it all to hell... PETUNIA!" Vernon roared to his wife, who was still upstairs, "Get the first-aid kit!"

There was a sound of footsteps coming down the stairs, and a shriek that undeniably belonged to his Aunt Petunia.

"Don't just stand there gawking, help me!"

Harry looked around madly, as if searching for something, and he found that he was in the kitchen. The blinding light was the electric light and he was laying flat on his back upon the shattered dining room table. When he glanced down, he saw several jagged cuts across his forearms, streaming gore onto his uncle's lap. Vernon was doing his best to clean the wounds, but when the sterilizing swab came into contact with his cuts, Harry began to thrash.

"Petunia, hold him!" Vernon said as he struggled against the surprising strength of his nephew, "And make sure that he doesn't pass out!"

Petunia did her best to restrain Harry, and lightly slapped him across the face when she saw his eyes roll into the back of his head. He snapped back to reality, but his uncle began shaking his head in frustration.

"There's too much blood, I can't clean this. We need to get him to a hospital."

Vernon improvised a compress by using the wash towels from the sink and he toted Harry outside and into the car.

"Nothing but trouble," Vernon muttered as Petunia brought an extremely drowsy Dudley into the back seat, "Nothing but trouble."

"What happened," Harry drawled, his tongue not wishing to work correctly, "Did I get attacked?"

"No!" Vernon retorted, a bizarre look of disgust and pity in his eyes, "I heard rattling in the kitchen, and when I came down to see if it was a thief, I found you with Petunia's butcher knife, trying to carve your bones out."

__

(**Author's Notes:** Well, I managed to reformat this thing, and I hope you all will stick around for the rest... the next few days should prove quite interesting for Harry...)  



	2. Tourniquet

_Chapter Two... Tourniquet _

Harry drifted in and out of consciousness for the next twenty minutes, aware that his hands were completely numb and that blood was starting to seep through Vernon's hastily made bandage. He could vaguely make out what his uncle was muttering under his breath.

"The old coot was right, can't believe it. M-magic... brought nothing good into my house... some protection they gave him."

Blood was pooling in Harry's lap, and his vision blurred. When he turned to listen further, Vernon wasn't in the driver's seat anymore. Harry felt his door open and thick arms grab him roughly around the waist. Someone else pulled his legs up, and then he lay flat against a mattress. Even though he was laying down, he was still moving at a quick pace, and the scenery wove into the faded sky.

"Someone take that rag off of his arms, that man said that he... bloody hell!" A cavernous voice rattled in Harry's head, "Holy mother of god, tell Mike to forget the speed limit! We need to be there now!"

There were dark shapes hovering in Harry's vision, their voices deep and menacing, their faces white as death. He could feel them removing his shirt, putting pieces of ice on his chest. They unwrapped his bandages, and the air attacked his wounds. Harry couldn't help but scream, and the shapes turned and looked at him. Their masks were emotionless, but the sounds they made were frantic.

"Pull him out, let's go!!!"

The mattress of air beneath him gave way, and Harry jerked forward, nearly sliding off the platform he lay upon. The dark forms were yelling, but what ever words they said were lost to Harry. Instead, he heard chanting, streams of rom and latin filled his mind, and the dark forms came into his vision, their deathly white faces coming dangerously close to his. White as death... death...

... death eater.

"NO!!!" Harry screamed and thrashed in the Operating Room. The oxygen mask came off of his face and tubes were pulled out of his arms. The dark forms scattered, but a being of pure white grabbed him, and Harry struggled against his grip.

"Not like this, not Death Eaters!" He cried as he tried to grab the figure with his useless hands, "You can't make me!!!"

The white form chanted loudly, and it summoned more dark forms. As much as Harry kicked and screamed, he simply couldn't overpower the innumerable forces. They tied him down with white straps, pulling him against the platform. The white form pulled out something long and sharp, and Harry felt something pierce his neck.

"No!" Harry felt his muscles involuntarily collapse, and his eyelids became increasingly harder to keep open, "Not Voldemort... I want..."

And Harry last thought was of a face, her eyes shining and her hair falling from bare shoulders...

---

"... difficult to say, Mr. Dursley, but his privacy will be assured, as will yours."

Harry could hear talking, the voice coming from somewhere to his immediate left.

"What about the cost?"

"A third-party has already stepped in to cover it. They arrived just after the young man left the O.R."

His eyes were... heavy and his head felt gigantic, but Harry felt himself coming out of his chemically-induced sleep.

"Is there any damage? Will he be able to go back to school?"

The voice was gruff, but somber... his Uncle Vernon's voice.

"I was afraid that we would run into this..."

"Well?! Is there or isn't there!?"

Harry was aware of a heavy blanket covering him, and of thick bandages wrapping him forearms. But his hands were still numb, and he still didn't know where he was. With great effort, Harry opened his mouth and let out a wheezy sigh. The sudden noise startled the two other people, and it took a moment before Harry could form his question.

"W-where am I?"

The first voice coughed, as if to clear his throat, before speaking, "You are in London, Mr. Potter. You have been brought to St. Elizabeth's in the Upper West End."

"What happened?"

The voice hesitated a moment before answering, "According to your uncle, you were sleepwalking. You ended up in the kitchen where you took a knife and proceeded to slash your wrists and forearms before your uncle... separated you from the object. It was at that point that you woke up."

A sharp pain bit at Harry's sides, and he groaned.

"Ah. That particular injury was... not your doing. In his panic, your uncle was a bit, um, overzealous in his attempt to aid you."

_Figures_, he thought, remembering that the dining room table had shattered beneath him. He tried to pull himself up, but his hands still refused to work. He opened his eyes and saw that his hands had an almost bluish tint.

"What's wrong with me?" Harry calmly inquired, gazing to his left. Vernon and the Doctor stood side by side, looking at Harry as if he was going to fall down dead at any moment.

The Doctor shifted nervously, "Um, about that. The lacerations were quite severe, and you didn't arrive for some time..."

"Out with it!" Vernon snapped, and the Doctor jumped backwards.

"Look," He said, "When you slashed your wrists, nerves were severed. Even though we managed to keep you from bleeding to death and stitched you up, the fact is that the nerves won't work the same way again. Y-you will have that lost sensation in your hands for the rest of your life."

_The rest of his life..._

Harry kept his tongue for the remainder of the Doctor's visit, and politely thanked him when he left. Vernon paced around a bit before he left, claiming that Dudley's stomach was upset and Petunia needed rest. Just as he turned to leave, Harry called out to him.

"Uncle Vernon," Harry said, and he saw the larger man stop at the door, "Thanks."

Vernon nodded before he shut the door.

Harry settled into the bed, his hands feeling extraneous and much too hot. If he had been feeling awful before, nothing could describe how he felt now... no anger, no sadness... just an absolute _emptiness_. And he was sure that he would never sleep again.

_It's official,_ he thought_, this is the worst summer I've ever had._

The door opened gently, and Harry immediately sat up and audibly gasped: Madam Pomfrey, clad in a simple, black dress, came into the room. She looked from corner to corner before seeing Harry on the bed, his bandaged arms in front of him.

"Good lord, Mr. Potter," She shook her head as she came to my bedside, "I won't even try to understand how this could have happened."

"He enjoys the attention," an oily voice mocked, "Despite all of the danger he puts people in, he thinks he's superior. He loves feeling _special._"

Severus Snape walked in the door, his black overcoat billowing behind him, "And he doesn't care who hears him, how many muggles heard him ranting about Death Eaters. You've made quite a mess of things, Potter."

Madam Pomfrey sighed and began to remove the bandages from Harry's arms, "Oh come off it, Severus. I assume that you already put the memory charms on the muggle doctors?"

Snape smirked at the sight of Harry, "Of course. But it wouldn't have been necessary if young Potter here had bothered to study his occulmency over summer break. I was _so_ sure that he could have done it on his own, seeing as how he is such a brilliant-"

"Severus!!!" Madam Pomfrey interjected, her cheeks red, "Make yourself useful and ensure that no one comes in here!"

She glared at Snape until he turned and exited the room, and then she returned her attentions to Harry. She carefully removed each bandage and disposed of it in a small tub that she had brought with her. Harry watched, fascinated, until she reached the skin - his forearms were a grisly mess of stitches and puffed, red flesh.

"Muggle doctors," She snorted derisively, "Nothing but barbarians."

Harry watched as she took her wand and snipped the stitches away. The wounds slowly reopened, and the cool air of the room stung. With a quick motion, the stitches lifted away and went into her tub. From there, she ran her wand slowly over the closest laceration. The wound began to curl within itself and close entirely. She repeated the process, taking great care with every cut. Even Snape, who had returned from the outside, watched her in awe.

Finally, she was finished. The flesh was still an angry red, but there wasn't even a trace of where Harry had attacked himself. Harry raised his hands and found that he could slowly flex the fingers, albeit with the feeling that it had fallen asleep.

"There." Madam Pomfrey removed her wand from Harry's side and placed it inside a hidden pocket in her sleeve, "I think that we are done here, Severus."

Snape smirked as he turned to face her, "Well, it is refreshing to see the more... vulnerable side of the Great Harry Potter."

Madam Pomfrey rolled her eyes as she reached into a side pack and withdrew a glass vial, its contents a violent pink in color, "There is extensive damage to the nerves, so I'll need you to take two drops of this, twice a day. Do it for a week, and you'll be good as new. I've already cast a glamour on your arms, so don't worry about the doctors being suspicious. "

Harry was simply glad to have feeling in his fingers, "I cannot thank you enough... this is..."

"Well, that much is true." Snape said, glaring right into Harry's eyes, "But I suppose you can't help being so weak."

He turned and walked away, followed by an irate Madam Pomfrey, while Harry could barely suppress his rage.

_How could he possibly say that, _he seethed, _I can't help it!_

With the weight of the bandages off, Harry sank back into the bed and stared at the ceiling. It was no use to be angry now that Snape was gone, and Harry closed his eyes. The anger had dissipated, but there was no sign of the dark, the emptiness. He tried to identify this odd emotion, and he almost laughed when he saw it. It was something that he hadn't felt in such a long time, an emotion that carried him into a sweet, dreamless sleep.

It was relief.

---

The tune was beautiful, and something sweet rang in his mind, rousing him from the depths of sleep. It rang like a wind chime with its asymmetrical rhythm and almost choral honesty, and Harry was surprised when the song was real. It flowed into his ears and it was real. He opened his eyes, and he saw someone standing on the chair at his bedside, hanging what looked like flowers from the privacy curtain, singing softly as they did their work. They had long, flame-red hair and pale skin that shimmered in the dim light of the room... and Harry realized who it was.

"Ginny?" he said, sitting up in the bed. She turned around and a smile crossed her face.

"Oh my god, Harry!" She jumped off of the chair and tackled him in a rib-crushing hug that sent him sprawling on his back again, laughing the whole way down. He whole-heartedly returned the embrace, forgetting that his side and arms were still tender.

"Geroff him , Ginny," Another voice said, half-playful, half-serious, "I'm pretty sure that he's still hurting."

Harry turned and saw Ron at his other side, a big smile on his face. He drew the blinds, letting fingers of sunlight dance across the room, "We thought this place was too dreary for you to recover in, so we all brought something to cheer this place up."

"All of you?" Harry could hardly believe what he was hearing, "Is everyone coming _here_?"

"Well, most of us. Fred and George still have their business to run, so they didn't come with us. But Mum, Dad, Bill, and Charlie are making their way up here right now."

Ginny nodded as she climbed off of Harry and sat up, "Yeah. Mum's having a hell of a time getting Dad up here without asking too many questions, but the hardest part was figuring out how to get your stuff up here."

"My stuff," Harry asked, "When did you get my things?"

"Last night, just after you left to come here. We gathered all of your things and sent Hedwig back to our house. But we couldn't leave until Dumbledore came to tell us that it was safe."

"Wait... so you waited at my house?"

"Yeah, and your family wasn't too happy to see us, mate, and your uncle was ready to throw the whole lot of us out," Ron answered, a grin spreading across his face, "But that's when Dumbledore showed up."

"And?"

"He brought Moody."

Harry laughed out loud, picturing the look on Vernon's face when he saw Moody at his doorstep, "And what happened after that?"

"Well, Dumbledore thanked your uncle for taking you to the hospital, and for fulfilling some agreement, and he told us to shove off. He stayed behind to talk with him, I guess." Ginny shrugged her shoulders, "Can't understand why."

The smile disappeared from her face, and she stared right at Harry, "What happened to you? How did you end up here?"

Harry felt something tug at his stomach, and he looked at Ron - who had the same expression of concern in his eyes that Ginny had, "Well... I had a dream, last night."

Ron's eyes went wide, and he opened his mouth to respond, but right at that moment, Molly and Arthur Weasley came through the door, loaded down with packages. Ron sprang from the bed to aid them while Ginny got off the bed and sat down in the chair next to Harry.

"Morning, Harry!" Mrs. Weasley said as she gave the packages to Ron, "Well, I suppose that 'Afternoon' would be more appropriate."

She walked over and embraced him, cautiously as to not hurt his arms. Mr. Weasley set the other packages on the ground next to the privacy curtain and joined his wife at Harry's bedside.

"Well, good as new, are we. That Poppy, always knew she would work wonders." Mr. Weasley said in his perpetually jovial voice.

"Almost, Mr. Weasley," Harry answered, pointing at the vial at his bedside table, "I still have to take that twice a day until I get feeling in my hands again."

A look of shock crossed Ron's face, "I didn't know that it was that bad!"

"Don't worry, dear," Mrs. Weasley patted Ron on the shoulder, "Your father's right: Poppy can work wonders. Harry will be right in no time."

"Look out!" somebody cried from the other side of the door. Mrs. Weasley pulled her husband aside as Bill and Charlie came through the threshold, carrying Harry's trunk between them. Charlie wheeled around to place it right in front of Ginny, who then propped her feet up on top of it.

"Ginny, show some manners!" Mrs. Weasley scolded, and Ginny grudgingly removed her legs from the trunk and put them up on the bed next to Harry. She grinned as her mother threw her arms up in the air and walked off. With the majority of the Weasley clan in the room, there was little room for anything else. Anticipating this, Mr. Weasley drew his wand and began looking around at the walls of the room.

"Bill, Charlie," He said, measuring the distance from wall to wall with his eyes, "would you kindly put the charm on the door?"

"Of course, dear sir." Bill said in mock reverence, causing his father to chuckle as his wand emitted a thin, blue ray. Bill removed a small, metallic object from his pocket, and Charlie - instead of a wand - pulled a hammer from his sleeve. They shut the door to the room and began to hammer the object in place with tiny nails. As they did this, Mr. Weasley was still at work with his wand, running the beam at the seams of the walls. At first, Harry thought his eyes were playing tricks on him - the wall across from him seemed to grow further and further away - but as he saw Mr. Weasley step forward into the place where the wall once stood, he realized that he was expanding the room. Ginny's decorations had begun to sprout, and flowering vines spidered across the expanding ceiling and down the opposite wall. As Mr. Weasley finished, the buds sprouted into gorgeous, fire-red blooms. Mrs. Weasley had transfigured a dinner table and a multitude of chairs set around it, and a massive picnic basket full of food sat as a fragrant centerpiece.

"Well," She said, gazing around at the newly-transformed room, "I think everybody is done, aren't we? So, Harry, let's give you a proper birthday."

It wasn't until long after the sun went down that the party died down. Harry, tender ribs and all, managed to get out of bed and sit down at the table for dinner with everybody else. Mr. Weasley asked about every object in the room, from the IV's to the television in the corner before his curiosity was sated. Harry hadn't realized how hungry he was until he sat at the table with a plate of sandwiches and meat pies in front of him, and both Ginny and Mrs. Weasley filled his plate until he couldn't possibly have had another bite. After a time, Harry wondered why no nurses or doctors had come to see him, and Bill - who must have guessed by the way Harry always checked in that direction - casually explained it to him.

"That thing we put on the door is a Chakra," Bill pointed at the door, and Harry for the first time could make out the object as a kind of steel pentacle, "and once its hammered in with silver nails, it kind of works like a memory charm."

"It conveniently makes anyone who walks by the room forget that its there, patient and all." Charlie added after a swig from a bottle of fire-whiskey his father had passed him.

"Moody put about twenty of them up at the Headquarters," Ginny muttered grimly, "In every room, at all hours of the night. I can barely find what hall I need to go to now, much less where my own room is!"

As the sun died away, Bill and Charlie took their leave, citing that they needed to rise early tomorrow. Mr. And Mrs. Weasley stayed until the wee hours of the morning, and the stars were shining brightly through the blinds when Harry began to get drowsy. Ron had passed out hours before, and Ginny managed to keep herself occupied by balancing almonds on Ron's head. Mr. Weasley was enraptured by the television, clicking through every channel and fiddling with every button until he accidently turned the volume all the way up. Ron flailed awake with the sudden noise, knocking the stack of almonds from his face. Ginny almost fell out of her seat with laughter, and Harry had to help her to her feet as Ron glared at her.

"Well..." Mr. Weasley rose with a great yawn, "I think that we had better be on our way, I have work tomorrow."

"Yes, and Harry, dear," Mrs. Weasley added as she gathered he bag from the ground, "I'll be here tomorrow."

Harry's heart sank a bit when he heard the news... although he knew it was a bit selfish, he really didn't want to be alone that night. Ginny and Ron seemed downcast as well, and they wearily gathered their things from Harry's bedside.

"I think that you two should keep Harry company tonight," Mrs. Weasley said as she stepped around the table, "I would hate for him to be alone in this place."

Ron and Ginny grinned with delight and the threw their bags back on the ground.

"Take care, dears!" Mrs. Weasley said as she walked out the door and Mr. Weasley gave a cheery wave as the door closed behind him. Ginny claimed the shower first and ran with her bag into the bathroom, much to Ron's annoyance.

"Girls!" was all Ron could say, and he flopped down across from Harry on the bed.

"So, how's _your_ summer been?" Harry asked in the most innocent voice he could muster, and Ron had to choke back a snort.

"Absolutely horrible," Ron said, but then reconsidered his statement, "Although you probably beat me out."

"Unless you tried to commit suicide in you sleep, then I think you're right."

Ron's jaw literally dropped, "You WHAT?!?"

"Keep it down!" Harry whispered, and he leaned in closer to Ron, "Ginny might hear, and I don't want to tell her, or anyone else yet."

"What about Hermione?"

"Damn!" Harry thought aloud- he had completely forgotten about Hermione in his earlier daze, "I don't think we should tell her yet either."

"Why not? She's our best friend." Ron barely maintained his whisper.

"She was... she called me a couple of days ago." Harry couldn't find the words, but he pressed on anyway, "She's upset enough, and I don't want to burden her with this as well."

He managed to avoid the topic of Sirius, and Ron seemed to agree with Harry's logic, "Look, let's just sleep tonight. We'll sort it out in the morning."

"Alright."

Ginny emerged from the bathroom with a towel on her head and clad in pajama pants and a silken blouse. Ron grudgingly grabbed his things and retreated into the bath. Ginny sat down in the seat next to him and propped her legs up on his bed again, although this time, she burrowed her feet beneath the blankets.

"My toes are cold," was her answer when Harry gave her a surprised look.

When Ron left the bathroom, Harry looked around the room and began to figure out the sleeping arrangements. The chairs that Mrs. Weasley had transfigured weren't suitable for sleeping, and Ginny had taken the only cushioned chair. While Harry was still deciding, Ginny took the initiative and crawled into the bed beside Harry.

"Ron, get in." She said as Harry sat there goggle-eyed, and Ron shrugged before sliding in on the opposite side of Harry, "And let me warn you, I hog the covers."

The three of them curled up beneath the blankets, and before long, Harry heard snoring on Ron's side of the bed. Trying to make as little movement as possible, Harry turned onto his side and faced Ginny. She was already gazing at him, and a dazed smile played on her lips as Harry felt sleep sidling up beside him.

"Happy Birthday, Harry Potter," She whispered into his ear as he gave in to slumber.


	3. Mayfly

_**(Author's Notes... **Forgive the rather late update... even though exams are over and I'm on vacation, family really makes it impossible to properly write out another chapter. This is a short update, just to let you all know I'm still alive!!! I'm already working on the next chapter, and hopefully that one will be up tomorrow. Harry needs a rest after the last few days, but unfortunatly, he doesn't get a break yet... Enjoy!!!_

_Chapter Three... Mayfly_

_

* * *

_

The morning sun brought thin bars of gold across the bed, and the light roused Harry from his sleep. He was unconsciously aware of the scent of breakfast foods, of eggs and bacon. The aroma further brought Harry to waking light, and he opened his eyes. Ginny was still next to him, her long hair tousled around the pillows, and she still seemed to be sleeping peacefully. Ron, however, wasnt behind Harry anymore, and he saw Ron across the room, standing over what seemed to be a miniature stove top.

"Let her sleep," Ron said without turning around, "This is probably the first time since school let out that she's slept so soundly."

Harry sat up, realizing for the first time that he had no covers - indeed, Ginny had managed to wrap herself with every blanket he had. He managed a chuckle before dragging himself out of the bed. The tiled floor was chilly, but Harry ignored it as he walked over to Ron. He was well over six feet tall now, and he towered over Harry, who had only grown an inch since school had let out. Ron's somewhat lanky frame had filled out a bit - most likely due to Quidditch - and his freckles had multiplied to the point that he was almost completely brown. Aside from this, it was the same old Ron, with the same smile and red hair.

"Oh, so you cook now?" Harry teased, and Ron grinned.

"Come off it, or you wont get any."

With a shrug, Harry began to straighten up the table and pull the chairs back into their rightful places. The chairs were heavier than he initially thought, and it felt strange to grip the backings without sensation in his fingers, but he did it anyway. As he set the table, Ron brought the pan with scrambled eggs and filled each plate. He put the strips of bacon on a platter in the center of the table before sitting down himself.

"Don't worry about Ginny's food getting cold, Mom enchanted the plates before she left." Ron said before popping a strip of bacon in his mouth, "She'll be up before long. Her appetite should wake her."

They ate in silence for a few moments, and Harry was sipping his cup of pumpkin juice when Ron asked his question.

"Did you dream last night?"

Harry didnt look up as he answered, "Oddly enough, no."

"What about the night before you got here," Ron put his cup down and stared right at Harry, "what did you dream about then?"

"That I was Voldemort again." Harry whispered, looking over his shoulder to make sure that Ginny hadnt roused yet.

Rons eyes widened at this, and he shifted uncomfortably in his seat, "Did he... make you do that?"

He gestured at Harry's forearms, which were a much healthier color than the day before. Harry ran his deadened fingers along the contour of where his lacerations had been not a day before, "Not exactly... its kind of muddled up, but I honestly dont think that he did this intentionally."

"What makes you say that? Cant he make you see things that arent real?"

Harry thought about this, _that is how he got me to the Ministry... to try and save a Sirius that didn__t exist._ He felt nauseous for a moment, and he drained his cup of pumpkin juice in an effort to snuff it out, to drown it. When he finished his cup, he closed his eyes for a moment to gather his thoughts.

"This wasnt a played-out scene, I _was_ Voldemort. If he made me do what I did, then he hurt himself pretty badly to do it."

Ron was about to reply when Harry heard a yawn - he turned and saw Ginny stretching out in bed. She turned her head and gazed at them dreamily.

"What smells good?" She asked as she rubbed the sleep from her eyes. Ron stood up and walked over to the stove, an amused expression in his eyes.

"Well," He said in a vaguely sardonic tone, "Im ready for seconds, since theres nothing else to _talk _about."

Ginny caught this remark, and Harry could see the irritated look on her face, "Did I miss anything terribly important?"

"Not in the least." Ron said airily as he cracked an egg on the edge of the stove, and now Harry was growing aggravated. He sighed before he reached for another strip of bacon, and Ginny sat down in the seat next to him. Ginny hadnt changed too much, aside from the fact that she was almost as tall as Harry now. Her hair was longer, now reaching to mid-waist, but she was the same round-faced, brown-eyed girl that Harry remembered from his second year. Of course, he also knew that she was undeniably competent in a dangerous situation and she took the rules about as seriously as Fred or George would.

Ginny eyed Harry strangely for a moment, "Whats wrong?"

Harry snapped out of his daze at the sound of her voice, "Nothing, I was just thinking."

* * *

Mrs. Weasley arrived later that morning bearing a basket full of food for lunch, and although Harry wasn't exceptionally hungry, there were no leftovers - it seemed that Ginny shared Ron's massive appetite. They ate happily as Mrs. Weasley sat down in the chair next to Harry's bed.

"How are you feeling this morning?" She said as she handed Harry a cup of hot chocolate.

"Well," Harry remembered taking a few drops of the foul potion that Madam Pomfrey left for him, "Aside from the fact that the Madam Pomfrey's cure tastes like sour milk, I feel better now than I have all summer."

"And how are you sleeping?" Mrs. Weasley's face became very serious, and Harry had a difficult time maintaining eye contact with her. She leaned in close and her voice became a whisper, "Madam Pomfrey told me how you got here, and although I dont want to pressure you, the Order needs to know exactly _how_ it happened."

The Order.

Dumbledore.

"I dreamed it." Harry finally whispered, feeling intangible blood flow down his arms, "If Dumbledore really needs to know, I dreamed it. He hurt himself, all of them did, and then I woke up, and-"

"Shhh." She raised the cup of hot chocolate to his lips, and he drank it in long, slow gulps, "Thats all I needed to know."

When Harry opened his eyes after his last sip, he saw Ginny's face, her brown eyes gazing at him mournfully. She had heard him, and Ron stood somewhere behind her, leaning against a wall. Mrs. Weasley suddenly stood up, startling Harry, and she calmly gathered the basket.

Her voice was as cheery as it had been when she arrived, "Well, I'm sure that Dumbledore will find that very useful".

She removed several small objects from her pocket, and with a wave of her wand, they grew into a pair of overnight bags, "Ginny, Ron, I brought you clean clothes."

Ron walked over and pulled the bags out of Mrs. Weasley's path as she turned to leave, "I'll see you soon!"

* * *

Harry's first shower in the hospital was a much more relaxing experience than he ever thought possible, and it soon became his favorite pastime. Today, he let the hot needle-spray massage his sore shoulders and neck before washing himself. As he scrubbed his arms, he thought of the past couple of days, thoughts filled with the strangest memories. He remembered the way that Ginny solved their initial sleeping arrangements. Although Mrs. Weasley had transfigured smaller beds for them, by morning Harry found both of them nestled beside him. Not that he minded, for he could sleep better when he felt their warmth next to him. It almost pained him to think that tonight would be the last night that he stayed here.

_Well... almost_, he mused as he rinsed the lather from his body. By now, he had grown restless within the walls of his room and was ready for the chance to leave for good. Ginny pretended that it hadn't hurt her when he told her mother about his dream, but Ron, true to his word, denied any prior knowledge. After a few hours, Ginny was herself again, and they all sat down on the bed together to watch the television.

Harry turned the shower off and he stepped out into the basin to dry himself off. After seeing Ginny's reaction, Harry knew that he couldn't put it off any longer - he was going to tell Hermione everything as soon as he left the hospital.

He left the bathroom and found Ron and Ginny right outside the door, staring at something just beyond his line of sight.

"Oh, come on," Harry said as he put his glasses back on, "I wasnt in there that long..."

His words trailed off when he caught sight of what held Ron and Ginny's attention; an impossibly large, black bird was sitting atop the windowsill, its great, dark talons digging into the metal. It held out its chest regally when its sharp eyes caught Harry's gaze, and it flapped gigantic wings across the room and came to perch on the tabletop.

The bird's head was bald and a chalky pink, but its eyes reflected intelligence and its curved scythe of a beak was almost _smiling_. The black, luxurious feathers wrapped its form like a fine cloak, and it held a small parcel around its neck, secured by a thin, gold chain. Harry reached out to grab the parcel when he heard Ron cry out behind him.

"Harry, thats a Roc!" He wheezed, his breathing shallow with fear, "It might-"

The Roc nudged the parcel into Harry's open hand. He reached up, standing on his toes to loosen the chain from the Roc's neck due to the Bird's great height. The chain came loose and the raptor retreated to the opposite end of the table. The way it swirled its massive wings, it almost seemed as if the Roc was _inviting_ him to sit down. Harry pulled up a chair, and he faced the parcel before him. His heart nearly stopped when he saw the engraving upon the aged leather:

_The Last Will and Testament of Sirius Nigellus Black_.


	4. Gingerbread Coffin

_(**Author's Notes: **I was late on this on too... it's been a difficult time to write with class and everything, but I've decided to finally try and get a good portion of this written while I have the time. I want a new chapter out every four days or so, so that's the goal right now. I'm having issues with punctuation being deleted when I load Word files onto the Document Manager... if anyone has a fix for it, I'd love to hear it. My e-mail is Thank you!)_

_Chapter Four... Gingerbread Coffin_

* * *

The massive bird retreated to the windowsill, it's talons scratching against the metal, and sat in silence. Harry's gaze seemed frozen to the aged leather in his hands, and Ginny cautiously approached him.

"Harry," She whispered, her eyes on the Roc as she walked to the table, "Maybe I should open the letter..."

The Roc screeched and drew itself up to its full girth, it's wings spread the width of the room. Harry motioned to the bird, and it studied him with eyes as large as crystals.

"It's okay," he could barely draw breath to speak, "Let her open it."

His words seemed to placate the raptor, and after a moment, it folded its wings back and began to roost. The bird's shadow fell across Harry and Ginny, who gently took the leather parcel from his hands. She ran her fingers across the seams of the package, the cracked flesh forming strange textures and patterns across the bag. She turned it over and read the engraving.

"The Last Will and Testament... oh my god, Ron-" Ginny's words were suddenly lost on her, as if she really didn't want to intrude on this part of Harry's life, but Ron came forward and his hands closed on her shoulders.

"Open it, Ginny." He said softly, "Please."

Ginny sighed quietly and reached for the clasp on the top of the parcel. Harry looked up at her for the first time and he couldn't focus- whatever thoughts he had neglected to have about Sirius came rushing through his mind all at once. His breathing was becoming shallow, but he didn't pay attention to it.

Ginny released the clasp, and she reached inside the parcel. She withdrew a long envelope and a small, silver key with a black ribbon tied to it. The envelope was made of a single piece of silver, smelted pure and hammered paper-thin. A thin, silken thread was wrapped around its center. Ginny pulled the thread off, and the envelope split neatly into two. She moved to retrieve the contents of the envelope, her hands shaking so badly Ron reached over to steady them, and she drew a crisp, white parchment from the envelope. Ginny looked at it, first the front, and then the back before a disconcerted look crossed her eyes.

"It's blank." She said, her tone subdued.

Harry's heart stopped for a few beats before he felt it pounding harder than it ever had before. Why would Sirius leave him a blank paper? The questions began to form so quickly in his head that he jumped when he heard Ginny's scream. She threw down the parchment, and it hovered in the air for just a second before it levitated to eye level with Harry. It hung in the air for that moment, and Harry felt Ginny and Ron come up beside him. They too were enraptured by this... thing before them. And suddenly, writing materialized one line at a time, the ink almost writing itself... and as it wrote, Harry heard a voice that made his chest clutch up and took his breath away.

_"Can you hear me?"_ Sirius said, his voice ringing loud and clear in the otherwise quiet room, _"I hope that this ridiculous thing is working."_

_"Well, if it is, I hope that this is you hearing it, Harry. I hope that Ron and Hermione are with you, and that you are listening to this together, sometime long from now."_

_"More than likely, though, it's sooner rather than later. Something may have gone wrong on a mission, or the Ministry might have found me, or any number of things. Or, hell, I might have lived to a ripe old age and it's your children listening to me prattle on in this captured memory,"_

Sirius laughed heartily before continuing, and Harry could feel the tears forming at the sound of his voice. He blinked to try and hold it back, but one by one, they trailed down his cheeks.

_"This isn't the usual way to go about such morbid business, and it took some thinking of how to do it. I remember when James di... passed on, how I felt as though my world had stopped. Especially after Azkaban, it had been so long, and even though the dementors didn't get my powers, they did manage to siphon some memories from me. And after I escaped, it turned my stomach to realize that I had forgotten what he even sounded like,"_

Sirius voice cracked a bit, and it took a moment for him to collect himself. Harry was crying softly now, and he felt a soft hand holding his. He turned and saw Ginny resting her head on his shoulder, sniffling a bit to hold her own tears.

_"At least until you came along, Harry. You remind me so much of James... and the sound of your voice; it felt as if I had gotten my best friend back. We depended on each other so much, James, Remus, and I. Even Peter. I guess that it's selfish in a way, because I know that you are your own person, no matter how much you look or sound like James, but that's what makes you special. Even if you didn't have that scar on your head, I know that you would still be the same caring, giving person that you are. It isn't the upbringing that make a person, it's the soul. That is why your friends will always stand by your side. That is why you will make some girl very happy one day, Harry. Even if you weren't The Boy Who Lived, you would still stand unique, and I guarantee that you would still manage to make your mark upon the world. You will never be forgotten."_

Ron had put an arm around Harry's shoulders, and he was shaking. Harry noticed that the light outside was dimming, but the parchment was glowing with its own luminescence.

_"I have so much that I have to say, but it's hard to form the words. I wish that I could tell Molly how wonderful she is, and how sorry I am for making her put up with me. Arthur, for always having the time to have a drink with me and talk about the good old days. Remus, for more things than I could even begin to say. Ron, for wearing your heart on your sleeve and for deep down, never wavering in your faith. Hermione... there are so many things I could say, but I'll leave it at this: your love is what anchors him, and I know that you will never lose it. Everyone I know has such wonderful souls, so much vitality and life that it's impossible to dull them. And that is what makes me selfish, doing this. I guess what I'm trying to say is... I don't want to be forgotten. I want you all to remember me, to remember the sound of my voice. To know that I care for you in ways that I can't describe. And I hope that in the back of your mind, you still know me,"_

Harry held Ginny in his arms as Ron did to him, and they cried softly as Sirius continued.

_"But I hope that these small tokens will help you in whatever ways they can, Harry. I, Sirius Nigellus Black, leave 12 Grimmauld Place, otherwise known as The Noble and Most Ancient House of Black, the blood oath of one house-elf, Kreacher, and the contents of Gringotts Vault 1297, left wing, to my godson: Harry James Potter."_

_"I just want you to know, Harry that I will always be here with you. Heart and Soul."_

The parchment dimmed as the writing upon it slowed, and finally stopped. It wavered in the air before falling to the ground. The Roc, having witnessed the whole thing, turned and flew out of the window, it's haunting cry echoing over London. Harry opened his eyes to find that Ginny had cried herself to sleep, so he picked her up and lay her in the bed. He sat down in the chair next to the bed and his gaze drifted toward the ceiling as Ron settled into bed on the opposite side.

"Are you okay, mate?" Ron asked in a soft voice.

Harry stared at the now dark ceiling, his thoughts weighing his eyes down, before answering.

"I'm not sure."

* * *

_He walked down into the valley early that morning; the sun had not quite risen and the fog had not yet lifted. The grass was damp and he felt the first spring flowers brush against his bare feet, but he didn't care. There was someplace that he needed to be, somewhere so important that he hadn't the time to dress properly. At this point, he was clad only in a white, long-sleeved shirt and knee pants, surely not the correct attire for a gentleman-in-training. But he knew things that no nobleman could know, that few would even believe. _

_The fog began to thicken, and he could feel the strange energy in the air, the feeling as if we were wading through water, and he knew that he was almost there. This world had always been open to him, even as a child. The people who dwelled within the wood had their ways of hiding, but when he had ventured into the wood at the age of ten, he could see them. His friends thought he was playing make-believe, that he was telling fairy stories. After a severe scolding from his father, he learned to keep to himself._ _It was just as well, he mused, he already knew that he was different. And when his eleventh birthday had come late in the summer, his theory was confirmed when a tawny owl came to his windowsill, bearing a sealed envelope..._

_But enough dwelling on memories, he thought as he neared the village, there are more important things at hand. Almost by magic, the fog split for him, and he entered the village. The lights from the strange water-huts danced in his eyes, and green torches guided him down the path. Children, their skin tone varying between a light green and a light purple, ran down the earthen paths, laughing and playing to the airy tune of panpipes in the wind. It was a celebration, and the path soon led to the town square. It was aglow with purple and green torches, and the organic music that a small group played beneath a reedy veranda. _

_That's when he saw her._

_She was beautiful, her skin so pale that only that slightest hint of violet could be seen. Her hair was brown and long and wild, cascading from the top of her head in thin plaits, and her eyes were a warm honey-amber that seemed to glow with their own light. She wore a simple blouse of the finest woven silk and a skirt of velvety fur._

_"Hello, Isaac." She said in a tuneful, breathy voice that blended with the music in the background._

_"My lady," Isaac said, bowing low to her. The girl giggled - a sound like a brook in a spring rain._

_"You know that you can call me by my given name, Isaac." She mused._

_He rose from his bow, a few strands of his white-blond hair dangling in his face, "Very well, Helenia."_

_Helenia smiled and took Isaac by the hand, "Let's dance."_

_They walked through the sea of people into the center of the square before Isaac took her left hand and placed his right on the small of her back. She laid her head on his shoulder and they danced for what felt like the longest time. Even though he knew that the sun was out, the natural light very rarely reached this village, shielded by the canopy of the wood. It felt like twilight, with the thousands of fairy lights swirling in the air. _

_But there was something... different in the air, something that was gradually deadening the energies in this place. It unsettled him, but the other people didn't seem to notice. In fact, they seemed positively jovial. Isaac could not really place it, but he knew that something was wrong._

_"You can sense it, can't you?" Helenia said, a hint of sadness in her tone, "I knew that you would be able to."_

_"What is it?"_

_"The Weird Sisters have been meditating for the last three moon cycles, channeling our magic into the charm."_

_The undercurrent of dread inside of Isaac began to wear away at his defenses, "Are they nearly finished?"_

_"Yes."_

_Helenia held onto Isaac tighter, and he gently kissed her forehead. She was fighting valiantly to hold her tears, but her morbid curiosity persisted, "Isaac, tell me... what is it you feel?"_

_He thought of a way to put it, to try and ease her pain, but the energies could tell him nothing comforting, "The forest is dying. It... that thing is draining it all away."_

_"The Sisters are trying to keep the Beast sated, but like all else who have been entrusted to guard him, he is leeching away at the fabric that binds us all together."_

_Isaac absorbed this, trying to understand it all before speaking again, "What will you do? When it all dies, where will you go?"_

_She sighed, the sound a rustle of a breeze, "We are closest to humans. To keep from dying out, we must integrate into the society of man. The Dryads of the Grange Clan will live on, if only in memory."_

_Helenia looked into his gray eyes, "Where will you take it?"_

_"There is a place, the castle where I spend most of the year. Master Salazar will know what to do."_

_She gazed at him, a flinty determination in her eyes, "The Sisters charm will seal his prison, preventing him from causing the deaths of any more civilizations who have safeguarded his crystal cell. Until a suitable shelter for him is found, will you guard it with your life?"_

_Isaac stopped and grabbed her hands before kneeling to her._

_"I swear on my honor as a Malfoy."_

* * *

Harry woke slowly, a feeling of dread within his stomach from a dream that had already hazed in his mind.

_What was that_, he thought as he tried to focus his eyes. It was still dark, and he felt Ron stir behind him. Harry reached over his head and retrieved his glasses from behind his pillow. With one hand he managed to put them on, and he found himself again facing Ginny. Sometime during the night, she had somehow managed to wrap both arms around him and settle her head beneath the crook of his chin. There were the wet trails of fresh tears on her face, and Harry sighed. She was crying in her sleep, and he wasn't quite sure what to do. For the first time since the beginning of the week, he felt quite awkward.

_Well, neither of us has had a good night_, he mused before laying his arm across her, holding her. Hoping that this would help, Harry began closed his eyes once again, trying to recollect the dream, knowing that something important was just beyond his grasp.


	5. Dollhouse

**_(Author's Notes:_****_ After a long break, I have made my tripumphant return! I fully intend to finish up my lingering fics, and perhaps begin a series of one-shots. I'm still fuzzy on the details. Anyway, here is something I hope you enjoy, and I thank everyone who has stuck by me.)_**

****

* * *

****

_**Chapter Five… Dollhouse**_

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* * *

Harry felt a light fluttering in his stomach before his eyes opened. He was greeted with a near total darkness, but the familiar scent of flowers and warm cooking assured him he was safe. _I'm at the Burrow,_ he thought as he rose from slumber.

"Geroff me!" Harry felt the ground beneath his feet shift, as Ron rolled over on the floor. The red-haired boy grumbled under his breath before lying on his belly and dozing once more. Harry took care to step around him as he made it out of the room and felt his way down the hallway. There was an unusual chill in the air – strange for the summer - and even the ghoul upstairs had ceased its usual racket. He felt his stomach growl just then, and thought it best to head downstairs to forage for food.

The Burrow was quiet – rare, given the near constant activity, the comings and goings of the large family. Harry rounded the corner, stubbing his toe on the ancient Grandfather Clock at the base of the stairway. He silently cursed as he looked upon it, the hands enchanted to tell the location of a particular Weasley… but at the moment each hand fell on the words 'Mortal Peril', and Harry's stomach turned a little. A cool breeze alerted him to the open windows in the kitchen, and the darkness outside.

"Did you sleep enough?" Ginny asked as she was buttering a thick slice of sweet bread. She motioned for Harry to sit at the table and wasted no time retrieving a pitcher of tea for the two of them.

"Mum hates it when I make the tea this way," she said to no one in particular, more focused on pouring it without making noise.

"I can't imagine why." Harry said, eyeing the pitcher and smiling despite himself.

"It grew on me." Ginny produced two thick slices of bread each, (in addition to the one she already had, Harry noticed,) and she generously applied butter to her own, "And it's the perfect comfort food when no one else is around."

"No one else?"

"Well," she glanced at him with a frosted glass at her lips, "I thought you could do with a bit of comfort yourself."

They sat in silence for a moment, letting the iced tea and sweet, nutty bread do their work. Harry detected the scent of rain on the breeze, and reveled in the quiet.

"Let's go outside." Harry suddenly reached for his glass, and Ginny followed.

Out the door and on the porch, he came to rest on a mammoth rocking chair, built with space enough for two, while Ginny curled up on one side of a porch swing.

"How long was I asleep?"

"Two days, three almost," Ginny sighed, her eyes blinking sleepily, "You were out cold when Mum came back the next day to get us, and she didn't want to disturb you."

Harry thought about that for a moment, and was suddenly anxious – three days? Something wasn't sitting well, something he could not quite identify. How could he have lost so much time? What was that nagging feeling in the back of his mind?

A thunderclap echoed through the fields, and the rain came.

Ginny flinched at the noise, "I hate that!"

"What?" Harry asked, an eyebrow raised, "The rain?"

"Thunder. Ever since I was a little girl, I've hated the sound."

As if to answer her, lightning flashed, and a crack like the faint sound of a gunshot rang dangerously near. Harry sat back in the rocking chair, breathing in the heavy scents with his eyes shut, "Not for me. I love the rain, the sound of thunder. It always made me feel like there was something else out there, like the world was alive."

He turned to Ginny, who managed a small smile, "And I was right, wasn't I?"

A flash, and everything was bright as day; in that instant Harry saw something beyond the garden, outside the fence. Something was walking down the dirt path that led to the Burrow. He sat up, walking off the porch and into the rain, only vaguely hearing Ginny ask him what he saw. The figure was close enough now that Harry did not need the lightning to tell him that it was not something coming, but _someone._

The world lit again, and Harry's eyes went wide.

"Ginny," Harry shouted above the thunderclap, "go get your mother!"

He ran, barefoot, through the garden and past the fence. The mud did not slow him at all as he met the figure in the rain. Harry saw the luggage behind her, the mud-slogged shoes, the soaked pajamas, and the long, bushy hair matted down with the rain. Lightning split the sky, and Hermione stared back at him with a look in her eyes he couldn't quite decipher. Thunder crashed somewhere nearby, and she threw her arms around him, sobbing.

"Y-you git!" the words poured out, and her arms tightened around him, "I thought something happened to you, I thought you died! You didn't call, you didn't write… I was so worried about you!"

"I'm sorry," Harry whispered, holding back tears of his own, "I'm so sorry."

* * *

Mrs. Weasley was waiting in the Kitchen for the pair, and promptly threw a fit when she saw Harry and Hermione walk in. She whisked Hermione to Ginny's room for fresh clothes , set Ginny to brew tea, (which she did with a sly wink to Harry,) and ordered Harry to Ron's room to change. The storm had given way to a gentle rain outside, and he found himself at the kitchen table once more, sipping a warm cup of tea and watching the clouds light up in the distance.

"Does this look alright, Harry?" Hermione rounded the corner into the kitchen, clad in a set of Ginny's pajamas, "I think it'll do until mine dry off."

"Be glad Ginny is close to your size," Harry noticed that the sleeves ran a little long, as did the length of the bottoms, (and he tried not to notice that the top itself was much tighter than it would have been on Ginny.)

Hermione gave a little smirk before sitting down across from him, rolling up her sleeves as Ginny brought her a cup of tea, "How is Ron?"

The thought of Ron sprawled out on the floor, dead to the world as Harry changed out of his wet clothes brought a smile to his face, "He slept right through that storm, and the ruckus the Ghoul made afterwards. I would think he's fine."

Ginny snorted from somewhere in the kitchen and Hermione cracked the first smile Harry had seen since she arrived… and something else crossed his mind.

"How did you get here?"

Hermione glanced up from her cup of tea, "The Knight Bus. I was tired of waiting for news from Dumbledore, so I packed a bag and thought to come here. I didn't know you were here already."

Harry's face flushed with embarrassment, "I'm sorry I didn't tell you. I should have given you word as soon as I was able."

A moment of silence, as Hermione seemed to think of what to say. Harry finished his tea and rose to put it up when she whispered, "I was so worried."

She studied him with that same, unreadable gaze for a moment as Harry returned to the table. Ginny returned from the kitchen, having finished cleaning up and sat down next to Hermione.

"So what happened?"

"I saw him." Hermione's eyes widened at his words, "He was doing something, a ritual I think. They put their arms into fire and I…"

Harry glanced at his wrists, realizing that not a scar remained where his wounds once lay. Even the numbness in his fingertips had finally left him. The pain was there, though – phantom pain that sometimes twitched when he was still, and he knew that there was more than injury within them.

"I was sleepwalking. My Uncle Vernon found me in the kitchen, and…" Harry couldn't find the words, just remembering the colors, the river of gore that covered Vernon as he tried to help.

"Shh." Harry was suddenly aware of Hermione sitting next to him, her face inches away from his, "It's okay, it's over now. It's just the past."

Ginny stared wide-eyed at the tale as Hermione wiped the tears away from Harry's face – tears he was not aware were there – as he continued, "I was cutting myself with a butcher knife when I woke up. Made of mess of it, all up and down my wrists and arms. My aunt and uncle took me to the hospital, and that's when Madam Pomfrey and Snape met me."

Harry sighed, the tears gone, the nagging feeling in the back of his mind gone. Hermione and Ginny knew, heard every word, and now there was nothing left to tell, "No more secrets. Not anymore."

Mrs. Weasley came back downstairs soon after that, shooing Ginny to her bedroom for being up at all hours of the night. Hermione decided to sleep on a cushy sofa in the den, leaving Harry the only person awake at the Burrow. Feeling anxious, he retrieved the few books he had gotten for his birthday and started to read.


	6. Bad Moon Rising

_**Chapter Six… Bad Moon Rising**_

* * *

For the remainder of the summer, reading became the primary activity for Harry, much to Hermione's delight. From the mornings after breakfast to the early afternoon Harry, Hermione, Ginny, and even Ron sat in the den and read one book after another, (although Ron would occasionally find an excuse to depart, even volunteering to de-gnome the garden when his mother asked.) Harry particularly devoured every volume put before him, hoping to better prepare himself for the year to come. After lunch, Ron would drag his friends outside for fresh air, (and the impromptu Quidditch match,) in the Orchard. The area was also secluded enough for 'practical application,' as Hermione called it. Harry was initially apprehensive, the memories of his sham trial last summer still clear in his mind, but Ron managed to sway him.

"Won't we get caught out here?"

"There's too much magic in the air here," Ron said, tying a knot on a makeshift practice dummy, "Why do you think they never caught Fred and George? That law is, no offense, mainly for muggleborns."

"Besides, Harry," Ginny shouted as she whipped by overhead, descending gracefully behind her brother, "It would be good to practice before we head back to school, and give us a head start in the D.A."

Harry perked up at her words – he hadn't given Dumbledore's Army much thought over the summer, although he missed the camaraderie, the feeling of _progress_ they made over the past year. _Maybe it would be a good idea to start it again_, he thought.

"We could get approval this time," Harry mused, "and we could hatch out a curriculum while we're at it."

Hermione's eyes brightened at this thought, "What about two different classes, one for new students and another for anyone coming back?"

Harry could _see_ her mind racing behind brown eyes… _this term is going to be busy, _he thought.

In the evenings the group would return to the house, exhausted and hungry. Mrs. Weasley didn't bat an eye at Hermione's presence, instead happy that there was another mouth to feed. Hermione sent an owl the morning she arrived so her parents would know she was safe. When Harry asked her about it, she simply shrugged.

"I need to be here more than I need to be home."

Before long, Ron and Ginny would head upstairs, leaving Harry and Hermione alone in the den. More often than not, they would make plans for the next day, or chart a lesson plan for Dumbledore's Army. Two weeks breezed by in this fashion, and Harry was feeling at ease for the first time in weeks. The night before Mrs. Weasley intended to take everyone to Diagon Alley, Hermione had the kitchen table covered with the bizarre sight of rolls of parchment and ballpoint pens.

"I'm not sure, Hermione." Harry said, flipping through the pages of a frayed, yellow volume, "N.E.W.T. level spells might be a bit much for us."

He set the book down and rubbed his eyes – as tired as he was, Harry was too anxious to sleep. Their plans seemed… overwhelming. _I just wish we had more time, _he thought, _or more help._

"Do you think Ron is as interested in this as we are?" Hermione asked, chewing the tip of her pen. Harry was surprised at her words, though he felt guilty for having the same thought.

"You know Ron… he'll leave the studying to us and come around when we get to practicing."

"I suppose," she glanced at Harry with a strange look in her eye, "though you were the same way until last month."

Harry set his pen aside, looking at the diagrams he had copied out of countless pages. The sofa where he had taken to sleeping was surrounded with books as well – he had read every book in the house, plus the trunk Hermione brought with her. _It isn't like me_, he thought.

Yet he didn't regret a page.

"Things changed, I guess."

The answer was inadequate and the look on her face told him she knew it too. He thought about it, the strange drive that had gripped him the day Hermione arrived at the Burrow, "I don't know what it is exactly. I just feel like I should know _more_, to not be clueless when something happens to us."

"Then think of it as a good thing," she said as she gathered up the parchment on the table," You are changing, right now, this very second. In a weird way, I think you are becoming the person you are going to be."

Once the supplies were returned to Hermione's trunk, (enchanted to hold far more than it's size would allow,) the pair migrated to the den, sitting on the floor between the sofas. Harry thought about her words… it was true that he enjoyed himself over the month, the reading a catharsis of sorts. At the same time, he noticed Ron growing distant, hardly contributing to their discussions and taking to flying in the mornings. Ginny also seemed bored by the constant reading, but tackled the afternoon training with vigor. She had taken to Harry and Hermione as often as possible, only leaving when Mrs. Weasley would force her to go to bed.

_Still, it's not the same without him_, Harry thought.

Hermione crawled onto the sofa behind him, his head cradled on her knees. She was wearing her own nightclothes this time, (and this time Harry couldn't help but notice that her top was just as snug as Ginny's blouse was.) _I'm not the only one who's changed,_ he thought, and he realized something – Hermione refused to be alone. Since arriving at the Burrow she had not had a moment alone. From mornings with the group, afternoons with Harry and Ginny, and nights studying until they couldn't hold the pages up. Even sleeping she was in Harry's presence… and he found that he didn't mind the company, enjoying their newfound closeness. In a strange way, Harry felt that his time with Hermione was coming at the expense of Ron.

"Are you alright, Harry?" she asked, a sleepy haze in her voice, and he felt her hand slide onto his shoulder.

"I think so." Despite it all, Harry felt the closest to contented as he had in ages, "I just have a lot on my mind."

"Fair enough." Hermione sighed, "Just take a moment every once in a while and think about it."

She leaned over him, both arms around his shoulders in a kind of backwards hug. Harry felt the light touch of her breath on his neck as she gave him a quick squeeze and kissed him on the cheek, "And there's something else for you to think about."

Harry felt the arms around him relax, and he wasn't surprised to find her already asleep when he stood up. A dreamy smile played on her lips as he maneuvered a pillow beneath her head and laid a blanket over her. _She's just exhausted,_ he thought as he walked over to the other sofa, _hell, I am too._ His muscles ached from the afternoon activity, and Harry thought it a wonder he hadn't managed to pass out yet.

Sleep eluded him, though, his mind alight with questions that he had no answers for.

* * *

The next morning the Burrow was a flurry of activity. Ron struggled mightily against his mother, who insisted upon giving him a haircut before the school year started.

"Just a little trim, Ronald! I won't have you running around like your brother!"

"I don't even have an earring!" Ron shouted before disappearing upstairs, remaining scarce until they left.

Diagon Alley bustled with energy; people packed nearly shoulder to shoulder as they ran from store to store. The crowds were larger than the year before, and Harry's scar prickled a little bit. There was an urgency in the air he didn't like, and he pulled Ginny and Hermione closer to him.

"Let's not stay too long this time, alright?"

Hermione nodded, and Ginny gave him a strange look before she and her mother left for Madame Malkin's (as Ginny had outgrown all her old robes,) leaving Ron, Harry, and Hermione alone for the task at hand.

"You sure you want to do this, mate?" Ron laid a hand on Harry's shoulder, as if holding his friend up.

"Yeah. I think I have to."

Ron went in first, passing through the newly charmed doors of Gringotts without incident. Hermione gave Harry's hand a quick squeeze while Ron still had his back to them before following, the only indication she even remembered her words the night before. He didn't press the issue, though, knowing that she would talk to him in time.

"Come on, Harry!"

Harry sighed as he walked into the Bank. A strange hum passed through him, warming him as stepped over the threshold.

"Weird, isn't it? Ron shook his head as if he was attempting to expel water from his ears, "Bill mentioned the goblins installed new security measures since… well, you know."

The strange warmth left his bones, and Harry shuddered at the thought of what the ward could do when activated. The three of them walked through the lobby and into the bank itself – Gringotts had changed since the time Harry had last been there. Thick, black curtains covered the golden statues that once adorned the walls, and bright, harsh lights flitted about above all, illuminating every possible nook and cranny, If anything, Gringotts was far more imposing to Harry now than it had been when he was eleven.

"To the line, Harry," a protective arm rounded his shoulders, "Come on."

Ron ushered him into a line, and with Hermione behind hi it felt as though they were a buffer, shielding him from whatever lay ahead. All too soon, the line dissolved and a surly looking goblin looked down at them from its podium.

"Harry Potter," its gravelly voice seemed to echo in the room, "How can we assist you today?"

Before Harry could reply, Ron reached into his book bag and handed the creature the smelted silver envelope. The goblin grunted as he read the parchment within it and perked up when he reached its end.

"Forgive me, Young Master Potter," the little creature nearly stumbled as it ran down the stairs behind the podium, "I did not realize the circumstances that brought you to us. Let me take you somewhere more suitable to your position."

Harry was confused by the goblin's sudden change in demeanor, and even more so when the group found themselves inside a warmly lit office, sitting on an oversized leather chair. An ancient goblin Harry was certain had been carved out of stone joined them, climbing steps to sit eye-level with them at an obsidian desk.

"I do hope you didn't wait too long, Master Potter." The wizened creature said in a reedy tenor, "My name is Durock, and I will be your personal banker from now on. No need for you to wait in line anymore, sir!"

Durock was positively _giddy_ at the thought, and Harry found the goblin's attitude increasingly disconcerting. Glancing at his friends, he saw Ron looking as puzzled as he was, and Hermione suppressing her agitation at this development.

"The transfer of funds is taking place as we speak. I dare say we can go and inspect your new fortune, if you like."

"Fortune?" Ron perked up at the word, "You mean Harry's rich?"

"Rich?" Durock chuckled as though he was talking to a five-year-old, "There are few Pure-Blood families out there who can equal Master Potter's new-found wealth."

For a moment, Harry forgot to breathe. He remembered his gift from Sirius, the Firebolt, and how he never thought of where the money to acquire it had come from… the collection of dark artifacts that lined the House of Black. The very silverware of real silver, stamped with the Black Family Crest…

His breath returned to him, "I need to see it."

The goblin Durock led them to the familiar mine track, and they descended several levels. Harry could hear the faint roar of a dragon in the distance and he couldn't help but crack a smile. He felt a hand on the small of his back, and he turned to face Hermione. She smiled weakly, using her other hand to keep her bushy hair out of her face.

"You're enjoying this, aren't you!"

"Just a little bit," Harry grinned. The cart suddenly lurched to the left, and Hermione gave a squeak, "It reminds me of a roller coaster!"

"I hate roller coasters!"

"Looks like Ron doesn't like them much either." He glanced at his other friend, who was slumped over the rail of the cart. Harry detected the faintest shade of green beneath his freckles.

Eventually the cart came to a stop in a cavern Harry had never seen before. Durock led them across a rope bridge to the far wall, where a set of iron doors as high as the cave itself stood before them. The goblin walked up to it ad began to whisper in it's strange, guttural language, caressing the vault with an inhumanly long finger. Harry saw the ancient gears in the doors begin to turn, the cavern rumbling as the massive doors slid open.

A light burst forth, free of that which bound it, and Harry had to shield his eyes. The vault was white marble, big enough to house a cathedral, with the Black Family Crest inlaid in gold on the walls. Ron blinked a few times, and his mouth dropped at the sight.

"Oh… bloody hell."

Galleons. Galleons lined the walls in piles the size and shape of two Hagrids, glittering in the fairy light, and on shelves above the gold lay precious stones and all manner of crystal balls and artifacts. Harry walked in awe, almost light-headed at the splendor. He noticed golden rings, diamond necklaces, engraved cups, and porcelain masks dotting each pile. There was more than Harry could ever spend in a lifetime.

Hermione screamed – and Harry immediately stopped and bolted towards the sound, wand drawn. He found her on the floor near the front of the vault, pointing at what initially appeared to be a dirty robe lying next to a stone table. Harry's stomach turned when he realized that it was a body.

"What is it?" Durock ran around a corner far faster than Harry had ever seen a goblin move. He came to a halt at Hermione's feet and glanced at the withered form leaning against a table covered in shiny, black coins, "Oh, this?"

The goblin grabbed the corpse's ragged cloak and proceeded to drag it out of the vault, "He probably tried to break in and ended up trapped. Oh well."

Harry offered a hand to Hermione and pulled her to her feet, the shock wearing off. She rubbed her eyes with the back of her hand and sighed, "Sorry about that. I was just surprised."

"Don't worry about it," Harry glanced around the vault, "Where's Ron?"

The pair found Ron a half hour later, buried in a mountain of galleons. When Hermione screamed, he had stumbled into a pile of gold and found himself smothered. After gathering what money he needed for supplies, Durock led them back to the surface. The goblin gleefully listed the properties Harry owned, (eight, including three businesses,) and the partial ownership of the Daily Prophet, (something that struck Harry as morbidly humorous,) all of which, Durock assured, would be properly appraised and cataloged.

"For now, until you are of age, a liaison will be issued to deal with your finances. I will be your personal banker, but we will need to find a temporary executor."

"Temporary?" Harry glanced up from the paperwork he was given to sign, "Wouldn't Sirius have named someone to do that?"

Do keep in mind that this is a special circumstance, and with the considerable funds involved, we do not want to inconvenience you." Durock cried apologetically, "The reason for needing a temporary executor is because the individual Sirius Black named is also underage"

The goblin turned his gaze away from Harry and Ron, and somehow Harry knew the words that Durock was going to say, "The Executor of the Black Family Estate, as named by Sirius Nigellus Black, is one Hermione Jane Granger."

* * *

They left Gringotts soon after that, Hermione shaken at the goblin's words and Harry at a loss of what to say. _What can I possibly say to reassure her_, he thought, ignoring the rumble in his stomach. Ron had gone ahead to find his mother, planning to meet them in front of Florean Fortescue's.

"Why me? What did Sirius see in me to think I could handle something this big?" Hermione was pale, the words pouring out of her mouth, "What was he thinking?"

"Hey!" Harry surprised himself at the sound of his own voice, "I can tell you _exactly_ what he was thinking. He thought you capable, devastatingly intelligent, and he wouldn't have put this on your head if he didn't think you could do it."

Her eyes went wide as Harry rested his hands on her shoulders, "And I think the same thing, so never doubt yourself."

A moment passed, and Harry sighed, "Let's get something to eat. I'm starving."

The pair walked into Florean Fortescue's, and Harry told Hermione to order whatever she liked. The parlor was unusually packed, and the pair managed to seat themselves at the only window-seat left. Harry thought about going over the paperwork the bank had given them, but thought better of it at the sight of the crowds. _I attract enough attention as it is,_ he mused, noticing several younger children gazing at him in awe.

A surly house elf presented them with their food – loaves of crusty bread, a creamy soup, and a mountainous ice cream sundae enchanted not to melt. Hermione dove into the meal with an appetite eerily reminiscent of Ginny. Not that Harry was a light eater, the first spoonful of soup reminding him just how hungry he was.

"Is anyone sitting here?"

Harry looked up, and he found himself facing the largest boy he had ever seen. Towering and barrel-chested, the boy looked to be even bigger than Ron, "Um… no. Pull up a seat."

"Thank you muchly." He replied, and Harry detected a slight drawl in his voice. Sitting down, the boy was still a head taller than Harry, "I couldn't find anyone else close to my age to sit with. Is it always like this?"

"Not often," Hermione replied in between sips of her tea, "this is the most crowded I've seen it."

"Ah," the boy said, pouring spoonful after spoonful of sugar into his teacup, "I wondered if all of Britain would be like this."

"Are you visiting?"

"Not exactly, my dad got a job at the local school here, so I decided to come along, maybe broaden my horizons a bit."

Hermione shared a glance with Harry – there was a new Defense Against the Dark Arts instructor.

"So will you be going to Hogwarts this term?" Harry inquired.

"Yeah, I'll be there with my dad. I'm really excited about it, actually." The boy stirred his tea, a small smile playing on his lips, "I was told it's like a boarding school, so I know it'll be different than Texas."

Texas? _That explains the accent_, Harry thought.

"I'm sure you'll love it here," Hermione said, reaching across the table to touch Harry's hand, "Harry and I are students there. I'm a prefect for Gryffindor House, and Harry plays Quidditch for the house team."

"Quidditch? You have a Quidditch field?"

For the next few moments, Harry described the Pitch, the house teams, and even Madam Hooch in great detail, relishing how good it felt to be excited about something like Quidditch. Another thing he missed due to Professor Umbridge's machinations.

There was a sound like thunder outside, and Harry felt the hair on the back of his neck stand up.

"Rain again?" the boy sighed, pulling a long coat out of his book bag, "It's rained five times since I got to England!"

Another thunderclap, this time close enough to rattle the windows. The boy offered his hand to Harry "My name is Michael Morimontes. Thought I should introduce myself before I go."

"I'm Harry Potter," Harry shook Michael's hand, feeling small in the other boy's grip. Michael was introducing himself to Hermione when Harry felt something like a static charge in his scar. He saw Michael's eyes suddenly go wide, and felt a strong hand pull him to the floor, the earth quaking beneath him.

"Harry!" Hermione screamed, reaching blindly for his hand.

And that was the last thing Harry heard before the world exploded.


	7. Doomsday Averted

**Chapter VII… Doomsday Averted**

* * *

Harry woke with a violent cough, choking out a mouthful of dust. He was aware of strong arms around him, pulling him out from underneath something heavy.

"Harry," a voice whispered, and he felt those arms shaking him, "Harry!"

"I'm okay," Harry wheezed, adjusting his glasses. He found himself looking into wide, gray eyes – Michael Morimontes pulled him to his feet. The larger boy was covered in dust, his black clothes stained white in places. Standing up, he was nearly a foot taller than Harry, "Where's Hermione?"

"I don't know. A chunk of the ceiling fell on you, and I didn't have time to look."

The food in Harry's stomach soured, and he struggled a moment with a panic that welled up inside him, "We need to find her."

Harry drew his wand and glanced around at what was formerly Florean Fortescue's – the storefront where they had been sitting was torn apart, and indeed the ceiling had caved in… robed bodies were strewn about the ruins, a few moving, most not. Harry and Michael shifted the debris aside, pulling whomever they could free. Soon, the parlor was clear and the boys could only stare at the horrific sight before them.

Diagon Alley had been torn apart, buildings gutted and the cobblestone gouged. Smoke filled the air, smoldering in the wake of whatever had come through. The panic that Harry strived to suppress immediately flooded his mind – Ron was with his mother and Ginny, and he hoped that between the three of them they had survived. But Hermione…

_They are alive, she is alive_… the words became a mantra within Harry's mind.

_She is alive._

The path to Madame Malkin's was littered with bodies, and the sight of a child leaning against a building, staring lifelessly into the fires stoked Harry's panic all the more, guilt simmering beneath it all. The guilt that with every other person he saved, he was slowly losing someone else. Guilt that he valued one particular life over another.

And he didn't understand _why._

"Harry!" Michael screamed at the top of his lungs, "I need your help!"

Madame Malkin's was completely destroyed, flames reaching high enough to lick at the sky. Michael had his wand in his hand, quietly chanting as a jet of water doused what he could reach when Harry joined him. It took five agonizing minutes to kill the blaze, which squealed and roared as if it had a life of it's own.

"A dark wizard did this," the large boy coughed as he brushed his hair away from his face, "this fire was enchanted, almost alive."

"Fiendfyre," the word came easily to Harry, as did the tome from which he remembered it, "but it was imperfect. If whomever cast knew what they were doing, we couldn't have put it out ourselves."

Dark wizards… and Harry knew that Death Eaters were responsible, picking the Alley at its busiest time without reason…

…a hand grabbed his shoulder, and Harry turned, stopping short of jabbing Ron in the eye with his wand.

"Hey, watch it!" Ron hissed in shallow breaths, "Mum sent me to get you and Hermione. We need to go!"

"She's missing, Ron!" Harry's voice cracked a bit as he said it, "They might have her."

Ron's expression darkened at his words, and he made a strange noise in the back his throat, "I saw them. They were heading towards the Leaky Cauldron."

Harry's mind raced, piecing the route together – _suppose they came from Knockturn Alley_, he thought_, and from there to Gringotts, then here, then Florean Fortescue's._ _Ollivander's would be next and finally the Leaky Cauldron._

"They haven't left yet." There was a quiet rage in Harry's voice, and he could see the plan form wordlessly in Ron's eyes.

"I'm going with you," Michael said, wiping soot from his brow, "You don't know how many of them are out there."

Ron eyed the strange boy apprehensive, and Harry nodded, "Yeah, let's go."

The three of them ran back the way they came, the ruins of the Alley a blur in Harry's eyes. It had been a half-hour since the initial attack, and Harry swallowed his panic, anticipating a firefight ahead.

Just past Florean Fortescue's, a black-clad figure was sprawled on the ground, petrified in a battle stance. His eyes, the only mobile part of his body, darted about fearfully behind a porcelain mask. Harry slowed, observing the frozen Death Eater… _they didn't take her, she fought back. She ran._

Twenty yards away, another Death Eater stumbled out of a shattered building. Harry strode forward with his wand drawn, "Where is she?"

The Death eater slumped against a wall, the emotionless mask a sharp contrast to the confused, stuttering voice, "S-she came, like lightning."

Harry pulled the mask away from the Death Eater's face, recognizing the man as Nott Senior. Pale and sweating, the man's eyes looked just as confused as his voice, "It was like f-fighting an army."

"He's confounded, Harry. We won't get anything useful out of him." Ron sighed, pulling Harry's arm away, "Let's find her."

They hadn't walked more than a few steps before Ron swiftly and violently punched the man in the face. Nott crumpled to the ground, and without a word Ron walked back into step with Harry.

"_Morsmordre!_" Harry froze at the word, and he saw a jet of light climb into the sky. It burst far above Diagon Alley and the sky turned green.

The Alley became a blur again as Harry sprinted forward, ignoring the cries of Ron and Michael. He ran around the corner and came face to face with the remains of the Leaky Cauldron. At the foot of the destruction a Death Eater was locked in combat with Hermione; another Death Eater observed the battle a few steps removed, it's hidden face tilted as if appraising the fight. Harry could see her whisper her spells, the closest the two of them had come to silent spellcasting. To her credit it was quite effective, as the Death Eater was losing ground, it's technique growing sloppy and increasingly ineffective… practical application indeed.

The Death Eater dropped to the ground to dodge Hermione's stunning spell, and Harry suddenly scrambled for his wand when he realized what it was going to do as it choked out the words "_Avada-_"

"_Reducto!_" Harry screamed, feeling the power in his words, and the spell caught the Death Eater in the hand holding its wand. Both wand and flesh exploded in a crimson mist, sending the Death Eater soaring into a pile of rubble at the feet of its companion.

Hermione blinked a few times, shaking the look of dull shock out of her eyes. Harry went to her, keeping his wand trained at the remaining threat and ignoring the fallen Death Eater's caterwauling, finally getting a good look at her – she was bleeding from an unseen wound on her head, and she favored her left leg when she came to meet him. There were several small cuts on her arms and face, and a large, violet bruise decorated her cheek. She smiled, though it pained her to do so, and Harry did his best to prop her up with his free arm.

"Dolohov, get up. You've embarrassed us enough." The other Death Eater said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Dolohov moaned as he got to his feet, clutching at his wound, "That brat… Yaxley, do something!"

"Be lucky he didn't aim for your head, you fool." Yaxley's voice remained deathly calm, "Besides, we aren't alone anymore."

Harry turned around and saw Ron and Michael at the corner, their wands drawn. Yaxley chuckled grimly at the sight, and Harry's rage threatened to boil over, "What are you doing here? Why did you do this?"

Yaxley tilted his head again, studying Harry from behind the mask, "You don't know? He said you were intelligent."

In a flash, Yaxley drew his wand at Ron and Michael, "_Confrigo."_

"_Protego!"_ Harry prayed that he was fast enough, and the air around the boys exploded. A crippling pain seized him as feedback from the curse tore through his body. The surrounding buildings shuddered as the blasting curse rebounded, scarring stone and tearing chunks out of the ground. Harry dropped to one knee as pain coursed through him, electric under his skin.

"Come on, Harry," Hermione whispered into his ear, "You can do this."

Harry tightened his grip, focusing on the word, imagining an invisible bubble around his friends. Slowly, the pain receded, the air around them clearing. Ron and Michael looked confused as they stood in the only clean spot in an alley full of debris. Harry managed a weary smile at this, and he turned his attention back to the ruins of the Leaky Cauldron. He wasn't surprised to find that Yaxley and Dolohov had disappeared.

Ron sprinted up to them, and he helped Harry to his feet, "That's twice this month you almost died, mate. That red stuff is supposed to stay on the inside, you know."

Harry could feel fluid warmth around his lips and down his jaw. Sheathing his wand, he touched his mouth and found it bloody. His nose and ears were bleeding and nausea began to wash over him. Still, relief that Hermione was alive, that Ron was unscathed tempered whatever injuries he suffered.

"That other guy left," Ron said, glancing around the ruins, "He said that he was going to get his dad."

"Stay where you are!"

The trio turned around to find Aurors pouring into the clearing, wands pointed at them.

"Stand down!" Harry saw Kingsley Shacklebolt push his way through the group, his brow furrowed in frustration, "That is Harry Potter! Children didn't do this. Go and help the victims, Merlin knows there are enough of them."

The Aurors parted, and Kingsley turned to face them, "We have Healers on their way here to look at you two. You're lucky I don't ship you to St. Mungo's for observation."

Harry grinned at Kingsley's words, and didn't even resist when the Healers felt the need to poke and prod every sore area on his body. _My friends are safe,_ he thought, and sighed as the adrenaline began to wear off. He shivered at the sudden chill in the air when an arm snaked around his shoulders with a slivery blanket. Hermione slid next to him, a bandage on the side of her head and flecks of a purplish salve spread on the cuts of her face. She grinned at his disbelieving gaze and lay her head on his shoulder. Harry tensed at first, feeling very much like a child who refuses to be comforted. The feeling of Hermione's hands at the small of his back slowly relaxed him, and he finally accepted her embrace... the warm feeling swallowing his panic whole.

_My friends are safe._

* * *

There were no immediate answers for the events of the day; Harry having spent a good portion of the afternoon in interrogation with the Aurors. His wounds mended, he was finally released in Arthur Weasley's custody to rest for the evening. Unfortunately, The Burrow was hardly a relaxing environment – when Harry arrived, Ginny was planted on the couch with a frustrated look on her face.

"They're upstairs, arguing as usual." She sighed, her legs hanging over the back of the couch, "And I think they're serious this time."

"Did she silence the room? I don't hear anything."

"She must have, or Mum would have broken it up by now."

_Perfect,_ Harry though as he ascended the stairwell, his mood darkening with every step. He paused a moment to collect his thoughts in front of Ron's room before entering, bracing himself for the wall of sound as he cracked the door.

"-and what I choose to do is none of your business, Ronald!"

"It was stupid and you know it, going after them like that, like you had some sort of death wish."

Harry stopped, leaving the door open just a hair as Hermione continued, "Who knows how many people they would have killed if someone hadn't stopped them."

"You didn't do it for them," Ron's voice dropped to a deathly whisper, "you did it for him, you thought he was dead and you wanted them dead too."

Hermione made a noise in the back of her throat as Ron pressed on, "I've seen the way you look at him. The way you touch him when he doesn't notice. I saw you the other night, stroking his hair when he was asleep."

"He was crying in his sleep, I was trying to help!"

Harry could feel his cheeks flush at that – he didn't remember any visions or waking dreams that night. After a moment, he chuckled silently at the thought of him having a simple nightmare. _I should be so lucky_, he thought.

"And why should you care if I _was_ interested in Harry? Why is it such a big deal?"

"Because he gets everything! He has money, he has fame, he could have any other girl in the school if he realized it! He doesn't need you too!"

"What? I'm not good enough for him? He could have a _real_ girl instead of me, Ronald? Maybe you're the only one who didn't notice I was a girl until I was fifteen!"

It was Ron's turn to be silent as Hermione's voice rose with every word, "You were _so_ angry when Viktor asked me to the Yule Ball, yet I was your last resort for a date. You ogled Fleur every chance you got, and you have the nerve to be angry when I stayed behind to support Harry. You get so frustrated every time I beat you during D.A. Meetings, yet you teased me when ever I took the extra time to practice. And now you're mad because I'm concerned about Harry, because I care about him, and why? Why, Ronald? Because he has too much already? I'm not a trophy. I'll be with whomever I damn well please, and you Ron Weasley, will have to deal with it!"

Harry opened the door, and both Ron and Hermione jumped at the sound. Ron immediately turned around, wiping away what look like tears. Hermione slumped against a lamp table, her hair disheveled and chest heaving. She looked at him, and knew that he had listened to every word.

"Are we alright in here?" Harry tried to sound optimistic, hoping that there wasn't a permanent fracture between his best friends.

"Yeah, mate." Ron was quiet, as if completely drained, "I think I'll head to bed."

"So will I." Hermione shot up and darted out the door, "I need some fresh air."

Harry stood in the doorway, trying to think of something to say. The words stubbornly refused to form as Ron sat down in his bed.

"I'd like to be alone right now, if that's alright."

His eyes met Harry's, and for a moment he looked... wounded, like he was ready to crawl into bed and never come out. It scared him, but there was little else he could do.

"Good night, Ron." he said, closing the door and hoping the night could heal what words could not.

* * *

Hermione was in the kitchen, sipping a glass of Ginny's iced tea when Harry returned downstairs, and Ginny herself was slicing bread for them. A frosty glass was waiting for him at the seat next to her. He smiled a little bit as he sat down, and the sweetness of the tea was strangely soothing to him.

"I'm going to take Ron a plate before bed," Ginny said, wrapping several slices up neatly in a basket, I'm sure he'll need it. See you in the morning."

With Ginny upstairs, Harry and Hermione were left alone in the kitchen. They sat in silence for a few minutes, mentally preparing themselves for what was to follow.

"Why did you do it?" Harry was the first to break the silence, turning to face Hermione. Her light, brown eyes glittered with old tears, and he suddenly found it very hard to look at her, "They could have killed you."

"I thought they had killed _you_." She said, her voice slow and steady, "A chunk of the ceiling fell on you and you wouldn't wake a-and... I decided to hurt them."

She wasn't crying, her tears exhausted from the events of the day, but the anguish in her still brewed below the surface, "I ran out and they were still there, gloating. I don't think they knew you were in there, but they recognized me the second I stepped out. I fought them the whole way to the Leaky Cauldron, holding back just enough not to kill them outright."

"Yaxley wasn't with them at first, but I imagine he was watching the whole time. He was already at the Leaky Cauldron when I cornered Dolohov observing his handiwork. Dolohov was furious that I had disabled the rest of their numbers, but Yaxley just stood there. I had the first shot, but Dolohov was more aggressive than the others. He was the one that did the most damage, aside from Yaxley."

She caught his eyes, and something inside Harry shifted – much like the Yule Ball, he felt as though a veil had lifted from his vision and that he was really seeing his friend for the first time. It wasn't just Hermione sitting across from him, it was someone who was ready to sacrifice her life because his own was threatened. She was someone who saved countless lives by stopping whom everyone else was afraid of, and Harry felt humbled in her presence.

"You were spectacular, Hermione," he whispered, "You were magnificent. I couldn't have done it."

Hermione's face flushed at his words, "Of course you could have, I didn't do anything special."

"I didn't see anyone else out there fighting them. Even the Aurors didn't get there until all the Death Eaters were either down or gone. _That_ is what makes you special."

He was leaning over the table, and she had risen to meet him. They hovered inches away from each other for a fleeting moment, close enough to feel each others breathing. Harry's mind was alight, wondering exactly what to do...

... to his relief, Hermione stood up, a gentle smile on her lips, "It's late. We should go to bed."

Harry anxiously agreed, his heart beating a little faster than it should have been. _This is new_, he thought, trying to slow his breath in an attempt to wrangle his nerves. For the first time his best friend brought this... _reaction_ out of him, and he settled into bed wondering if it was such a bad thing.


End file.
